


Hide Your Heart

by Looralullaby



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon, Boys Kissing, Cursed Will Herondale, M/M, Sophie's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26436919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looralullaby/pseuds/Looralullaby
Summary: Sophie is stuck, Will and Jem are preoccupied, and things are seen which cannot be unseen.
Relationships: Jem Carstairs/Will Herondale
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Hide Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Sunshine in London by xodracovius, which is a really adorable read I recommend checking out.

Sophie takes a private delight in cleaning Master Jem's room. It's never truly dirty in the first place, but it does contain the slightly unsettled look of a space well-lived in: rumpled sheets and an unfluffed pillow, used towels beside the basin, and the occasional muddy boot prints tracked across the floor. Sophie knows it is Will who makes the latter mess, and suspects he is also the source of the scuff marks on the furniture. It scorns her, how little respect Will has for Master Jem's things. But most everything Will does scorns her.

The workload is light and after Sophie finishes, she takes a moment to bask in the results. In her old life, she considered housework a necessity for survival. But ever since she's come to the Institute, she's found herself taking more and more pride in her occupation, whether it’s fixing up Miss Charlotte's favorite dresses, bringing a plate of eggs down to Henry's workshop, or making up a comfortable sanctuary for Master Jem to call home. It fills her with a purifying warmth, like a cup of tea on a brisk morning.

She hangs her duster on the towel-horse and crosses over to the wardrobe. It may be horrifically inappropriate, but Sophie overcame her shame several cleanings ago, and she swings open the doors. Master Jem's jackets are lined up along the inside, pressed and clean.

She isn't entirely without restraint. Her fingers are careful, shy, fluttering down a sleeve. Pinching the cuff. It's enough to send her off on a dreaming fancy, where she is touching the real Jem, smoothing a hand down his arm until she finds his larger one and they lace their fingers together. She is close, so very close to him that she can smell burnt sugar cloying on his breath.

The impropriety suddenly snaps her into reality. She jerks her hand back from the jacket and is just about to shut the wardrobe and hasten away...when she realizes. The scent was not a figment of her imagination. It is wafting off his clothes.

Curiosity and desire spill through her. On a whim, she frees a jacket from its hook and presses it to her face.

A deep inhale shudders through her. He smells _wonderful_.

 _If only she were a Shadowhunter, and not a nosy, pathetic serving girl living in daydreams_.

It's too late she hears the footsteps approaching down the hallway. William's voice travels clear and strong through the wall, "--would've needed eyes on the back of my head to have seen it coming. Little bastard had been watching me, waiting for a moment of inattention."

Sophie has only seconds to spare. She leaps into the wardrobe, still holding tightly onto Jem's jacket, and pulls it shut. A moment later, the bedroom door bursts open.

"And let's be clear," Will is saying, "The moment was as brief as it possibly could have been. Only a fraction of a second. But it happens to the very best of us."

There's a crack between the wardrobe doors, allowing Sophie to observe the room beyond. Will stomps across the floor and throws himself onto Master Jem's freshly made bed. His gear looks absolutely filthy, and Sophie scowls. A moment later, Master Jem follows through the doorway, wearing a clean set of gear and a small smile.

"Somehow, I doubt Jonathan Shadowhunter would've been distracted by a passing squirrel."

His voice, so gentle and warm, only emphasizes his delicate beauty more. His silver hair is messily arranged over his forehead and his eyes are crystalline, still bright from their latest mission. Sophie's heart sighs in her chest.

"If that was a squirrel, it was the Satan of squirrels," Will declares. "Why, the Great Tarrare himself couldn't have swallowed such a beast."

Jem takes a seat on the chest and begins unlacing his boots. "I suppose it might conceivably have been mistaken for a small raccoon."

Will sits up on his elbows to glare at Jem properly. "I would appreciate a bit more sympathy from my parabatai. _Scorpios_ tails are occasionally known to be toxic. In twenty-four hours I could be comatose and bedridden, writhing in agony as darkness fast approaches. Will it be so amusing to you then?"

Sophie has never found Will's cruel jokes very amusing, but this one seems to be in particularly poor taste given Master Jem's illness. Though she should've known Jem was used to this sort of thing, for he lets out a quiet laugh.

Will lays back on the bed, clasping his hands over his chest. "And death will lie on me, like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower in the field." He shuts his eyes and pretends to die.

Sophie rolls her eyes. She has the distinct feeling he's quoting from somewhere.

"Alright, I'll let it alone." Jem leans over Will and prods him gently in the side. "I _am_ sorry the _scorpios_ knocked you into that pigpen. The squirrel--or whatever it was--distracted you, but I'm also partly to blame. I should've had your flank."

Will nods, though his eyes are still closed.

"Would you like me to give you an iratze for the poison?" Jem asks.

"If you insist."

Will sits up, shrugs off his jacket, and rolls up his shirt sleeve. Jem moves to sit beside him and presses his stele to Will's bicep. As he draws, Jem admonishes him. "You shouldn't have sat on here with your filthy clothes. Sophie will have to change the sheets again."

Will seems not to have heard. He's cursing under his breath, plucking wads of mud out of his chaotic black curls. "Bloody pigs. Sliced ham for dinner sounds about right. And a slab of bacon for breakfast."

"They were only living as pigs do."

"Then let them die as pigs do! Roasted on a spit and apples stuffed in their mouths."

"Vibrant today, aren't we?" Jem says dryly.

"Indeed." Will drops his hands on his spread knees. "I had a late night drinking down the works of Gilbert and Sullivan. Alcoholic piles of madness, they are."

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you.” Jem finishes with the rune and leans back to admire his work. "How is that?"

Will examines his arm. He gives it an experimental flex and hard muscle bulges briefly under his skin. "Well I can no longer feel any poison coursing in my veins. However, I'm suddenly in dire need of hard liquor."

Jem hums, satisfied. "I'm glad you're alright. You know, I've heard mud baths can be quite restorative to the spirit as well as the skin."

Blue eyes meet dancing silver ones. The next moment, Will has tackled Jem onto the bed and pinned his wrists down. Sophie thinks Jem could toss him off, if he wasn't currently consumed with laughter.

"I've had enough," Will proclaims. "No more of your witticisms about what happened. Or I'll tell the story of you and that sneeze-lurking faerie at dinner."

Jem's gaze sparkles like freshly polished silver. "No more witticisms? How incredibly rich coming from you."

"I mean it James."

"As if I didn't have to hear about that 'sneeze-lurking faerie' for weeks after it happened."

"You were sneezing enough pepper to spice my morning eggs. How could I pass up such an opportunity? It would offend the gods of comedy."

Jem purses his lips. Then a strange light pours into his face, illuminating his expression.

"I do believe you're right. It's all in good fun. Just like when that hog trotted over after you'd landed in the pen--"

Will leans forward pressing more of his weight on Jem's wrists.

"I'm warning you--"

Jem's smile spreads. "Remember how he'd squatted right over your boots and—"

Will seals Jem's mouth with his own. Sophie barely manages to muffle her gasp, but even then, she likely would have been discovered if the boys were not so engrossed in each other. Will pulls away only a moment later, and Jem is speaking again, laughter sprinkled over his voice.

"Best tell Thomas that's not _mud_ you're tracking everywhere in the Institute--"

Will bends down and silences Jem with another kiss. Sophie must blink several times to make sure what she's seeing is true. And then the horror begins to creep over her. She watches Jem's eyebrows knit, and the way Will's thumb slides over Jem's wrist, like a spider tightening its silk cage. Seeing Will atop Jem's leaner frame stirs long-buried memories in Sophie, of the son of her last employer. _Teddy_. How he'd press her up against a wall or corner her in an empty room and start nosing at her hair, roaming his hands wherever he wanted. She'd known Will was awful, but she never thought him capable of _this_ level of depravity. And to attack Master Jem of all people...her blood heats to a boil. She is untrained and underweight, at least half a foot shorter than Will. But if she must intervene to rescue Jem, then so be it.

Before she can leap out of the wardrobe however, Will breaks off the kiss. He hovers over Jem's face, his words so quiet they strain Sophie's ears.

"Are you going to shut up now?"

Jem smiles up at him. After a moment, Will mirrors it with his own.

Sophie has seen this look pass between them before. In wordless conversations over the dinner table, long nights at the infirmary, while locked in a sparring match, in the midst of Jem's particularly bad episodes and the mornings after, and each time one of them walks into a room and their gaze lands on the other.

Their kissing resumes and Sophie can recognize now the receptiveness on Jem's part. How his pale lashes flutter against his cheekbones and his lips part for Will. Will, surprisingly, is very gentle. He doesn't try anything obscene, only brushing his mouth chastely over Jem's, nipping shyly. They are lazy and sweet about it, as if they have all the time in the world and perhaps they do. Perhaps in their tiny, secret universe, there is only each other and time ceases to exist at all. Sophie hears soft murmurs exchanged, some of which she catches, some she doesn't. There's a fluff of Welsh, whispered vowel of Mandarin, and then English, bland and clunky in comparison.

"She's been so upset lately."

"Who?"

"Charlotte, Charlotte," Jem incants.

A drop of poison stains Will's tone. "Of course. Henry, the blundering fool. Bought her flowers for Saint Valentines but dropped them on the doorstep. I had to steal into Charlotte's study and leave them on her desk like bloody Cupid. If he ever manages to invent something of value, I'll expect collateral."

Sophie almost doesn't believe it. The idea of Will, Will _Herondale_ , performing good deeds in saintlike anonymity. It's absurd. But it's clear Jem believes from the reverent touch he places on Will's cheek.

"Dear William. That wasn't what I was referring to."

"Oh?"

"What the Consul said at the last Clave meeting. It's been troubling her."

Will scoffs in disgusted agreement. "Smarmy bastard. Couldn't manage a tea party if he tried, let alone an Institute."

"But he's got authority over her, over all of us, and there's nothing we can do but ease Charlotte's burden." Jem places a hand on Will's chest, halting another kiss. "That's why I'm telling you now, Will. Make yourself helpful in her presence or abstain from it altogether. She doesn't need any more worries added to her load."

Looking rather put upon, Will shifts his weight onto his elbows and frowns down at Jem. "I don't take orders very well, it interferes with my creative spirit. What's more, her burden is not really my concern."

Jem's lips part mockingly. "But her flowers are?"

Will lets out a dramatic sigh. "You've caught on to my weakness. What can I say? I'm a romantic at heart." With that, he presses the most tender of kisses to the tip of Jem's nose.

Jem stares up at him, imploring with his eyes. "I know you care, Will. All I'm asking is that you show it for once. "

"As admirable as your unfailing belief in me is, you're incorrect. You are the only person I care about, Jem."

Will swoops down on him, but Jem turns his head, causing Will's lips to land on his cheek. "In that case, would you mind letting up on my shoulder? It's starting to ache."

Will scrambles to sit up, his face pale. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never do that on purpose." He's nearly stuttering with worry and it might be the most genuine emotion Sophie has ever seen him express. "You should've told me earlier. Does it still hurt? I can draw a healing rune--"

"It's fine, I'm fine Will. It was only starting to fall asleep, that's all." Jem has sat up as well, rubbing his shoulder. He pushes Will down onto the mattress, shifting over him so that their positions have switched.

"Are you certain you're not in any pain?" Will asks as Jem eases him onto his back.

"Yes. I'm much more comfortable now." A smile tips the corner of Jem's mouth. "In fact," he says, bearing down on Will. "I feel like I could stay here all day."

They begin kissing again, harder, deeper than before. Sophie cheeks pulse with shame and yet she is a captive to her own fascination. She's always found Will's beauty frightening, so jagged and raw, capable of tearing apart anyone that came too close. But when Jem's lovely hands slide beneath Will's shirt, wringing out a low groan from him, Sophie can't help but shiver. And then there is Jem, ethereal, divine Jem, who gasps softly as Will grips the silver halo of his hair. Their expressions are Renaissance pieces; Jem's eager and flushed, Will's twisted and overwhelmed, as if he's both lost and found at the same time. Their long legs tangle. One or both of them rolls their hips and the bed frame squeals, creaks like a boat drifting off to sea. Their mouths separate with a wet click and there's a damp sigh before they meet again. The wrongness of the act--two men lying together-- seems moot in the face of their passion. The bond between them is so obvious, so powerful, that Sophie fears her heart may rupture from longing. No one, nothing she'll ever find in her lifetime will compare to a love like this.

There's a rap on the door and instantly the boys freeze. Sophie presumes they've had a lot of practice with that.

Jem sends a glance at the doorway, clearing his throat. "Yes?"

"Dinner is ready, Master Jem. We're having roast goose."

"Thank you Thomas, I'll be down in a minute."

Moments later, Thomas' footsteps fade away and Sophie thinks everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief. Jem is the first to move. He extracts himself from their tangle of limbs, bracing his hands against Will's chest to sit up. Will chases after him, capturing Jem's wrists.

"You're not actually leaving now, are you?" Will sounds incredulous.

"I haven't eaten in hours. And didn't you hear him? We're having roast goose. What else could possibly keep us up here?"

Will clasps Jem's wrists tighter, pulling him toward his chest.

"I want to make love to you."

This bold confession, like a bucket of ice dumped on top of everything else she's already seen, causes a gasp to slip from Sophie. Will's eyes dart toward the wardrobe and her whole body seizes up. But no, thank God, she must've imagined it because Will immediately refocuses on Jem.

"I think I'd still prefer the goose," Jem says, chuckling. "I am _genuinely_ starving. Besides, they'll come looking for us if we're too long."

Will releases his hold on Jem. The heated demand, the stubborn resolve, suddenly all gone. They've been replaced by a frown and the cool blue stare Sophie is more familiar with.

"You're right. Go on ahead, I'll be down in a few minutes."

Jem nods, getting to his feet. "Good idea, better to dispel any suspicions. I'll see you soon."

The door shuts quietly behind Jem. For a minute, Will stays frozen where he is, his legs swung over the side of the bed and his head bent. Sophie supposes he is concentrating on Jem's faraway footsteps, which have long faded from Sophie's ears but would still be audible to a shadowhunter. In a single, deliberate movement, Will rises to his feet. He strides over to the towel-horse and rips the duster off of it. There's a sharp _bang_ , and Sophie squints against the unexpected wash of light.

Will Herondale stands before her, the doors of the wardrobe still swaying from the force of being thrown open. He casually spins her duster in one hand. "Sophie love, were you looking for this?"

"M-Master Will," she stammers, resorting to honorifics in her shock. "I--yes, I was."

"But you certainly saw a lot more, didn't you? You disfigured, peeping little wretch."

Will's cruelty revives something in Sophie. She remembers who she's speaking to, what she's seen, and how little of it is actually her fault. She steps out of the wardrobe, scowling, wearing her most ferocious glare. "Mock me all you want, Will, I'm not the one committing sins. I am only a witness to yours."

A ruthless smile slices across Will's lips. "Right you are, Sophie. According to the Clave and to the word of God, we are sinning. Jem and I." He takes a step forward, towering over her, and although Sophie holds her ground, there's a prickle of fear on the back of her neck. "Now humor me for a moment. Imagine how the Clave would react should they discover our activities. What do you think they would do?"

Sophie's gaze drifts to the side. It is very difficult to maintain eye contact with Will's angry, bitter blues. "Banish you, I suppose. Perhaps strike your last names from the Shadowhunter records."

"You're half right. As I am the last of the Herondales, my family name would certainly be lost forever, but Jem still has an Uncle up in Idris. And I'm not certain we would be entirely stripped of our marks, but we would be separated at the very least. Our reputations would be irreparably damaged. Fortunately for myself, I don't have a reputation to uphold either way."

"Master Jem…," Sophie says softly.

"Would be the primary victim of such a discovery. Yes, Sophie, let those rusty gears in your brain begin to turn. You always were so ungodly slow."

Her face pinches, lips souring into a frown. "It seems to me you're the one who's slow. Perhaps you should speak to me with a bit more care, seeing as I now hold the fate of you and your most beloved in my hands. That's what you told Master Jem, isn't it? He's the only one in the world you care for?

Her words do not have the desired effect she was hoping for. Will doesn't seem the least bit threatened or afraid. He's amused if anything, a smirk growing on his face, slow and wicked. "How terribly disappointing that I'd already gotten to Jem before he had a chance to meet you. You are two of a kind, with the same gullible, sentimental idea of romance."

"What do you mean by that?"

"While it's true I'm very fond of Jem--fonder of him than anyone else, I admit--calling it _love_ is a fancy bit of phrasing. I told Jem what he needed to hear to convince him to share a bed with me. No need to look so repulsed Sophie, I doubt he regrets anything that's transpired between us. It seems he enjoys being doted on almost as much as I enjoy corrupting him.

"He's your parabatai," Sophie says, horrified. All those tender moments, all those sweet words...they had meant nothing to Will. "How could you manipulate him like that?

Will draws a deep breath and exhales through his nose. "Jem believes I am better than my actions speak for. But you and I know the truth, don't we? I don't think I'm even capable of love, not the kind you and Jem feel. And honestly, I thank the Angel for sparing me all that pitiful weakness and vulnerability. I would never have been able to take advantage of Jem if he did not utterly adore me so."

Sophie winces violently. She is devastated on Jem's behalf.

"I shall sum it up for you," Will says, lowly. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, Jem will be disgraced, exiled, and heartbroken for the remainder of his very short life. That all adds up quite nicely don't you think? "

"You are a monster William Herondale."

"Thank you Sophie dear, you have a lovely day. And try not to poison my dinner wine, won't you? Jem has an awful habit of sipping from my glass."

Sophie snatches her duster from Will and storms out of the room. Blood roars in her ears as she hurries down the hall. Her ribcage feels as though it may crack from the furious hammering of her heart. She cannot believe she had thought for even a second Will may be redeemable. He is evil, more evil than those demons he hunts and slays. For unlike them, he was born with a heart and yet has chosen to let it rot.

Will, now alone in the room, stoops to pick up Jem's jacket from the floor of the wardrobe. He brushes off the dirt, taking care not to wrinkle it while hanging it up. He runs a reverent hand down the fabric--much like Sophie had--and is lost for a moment in a daydream about its owner. Then he blinks and heads downstairs for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> sneeze-lurking: an act of pure criminal nastiness to throw snuff or pepper into someone's face, with the sole intention of making off with their valuables.
> 
> (The idea of this happening to Jem is so funny to me)


End file.
